


The Limits of Hope

by iwant2eatu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Some kissing, Some sadness, Stucky - Freeform, angsty, eventual black falcon, tags will likely change, will be some anger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:57:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwant2eatu/pseuds/iwant2eatu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TWS Bucky is having a hard time dealing with his PTSD, but Steve is helping as best he can. Nat is suspicious of Bucky, but trusts that Steve knows what he's doing. Ficprompt by HypnosisReport</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HypnosisReport](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypnosisReport/gifts).



> I really don't know how to write dialogue apparently, so sorry about that! I also need to research PTSD I think. Hope you like it Juju!

Steve turned the key in the lock, sighing. Resting his forehead on the door, he prepared himself for what he would find on the other side.

“Buck?” he said cautiously, slowly opening the door. Getting no answer, he entered the small apartment quietly, hanging up his damp jacket and dumping the groceries on the side in the pokey kitchen.

“Bucky?” he tried again, louder this time. Making his way towards the smaller bedroom, he noticed two coffee cups on the table, one with a dark lipstick stain on the rim. He smiled, knowing that Nat deliberately wore the lipstick when she visited ever since he complained about how hard it was to get the stains off. The smile fell when he realised that Nat had waited until he left to visit. Why was she visiting Bucky, after all this time?  
He opened the door to the bedroom after getting no response from his gentle knocking. Steve let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw Bucky lying on the bed, sleeping quietly. Perching on the end of the bed, he looked at the man he remembered so well, and still knew so little about. Gently pulling a blanket over Bucky’s relaxed body, Steve realised it had been a very long time since he had seen him so calm and vulnerable. Smiling again, he left the room and began putting away the groceries.

When Bucky emerged a couple of hours later, yawning sleepily, Steve had just finished cooking.

“Oh hey, you’re up! Want some spaghetti?” Steve sputtered nervously, scanning Bucky’s posture and expressions, attempting to gauge his mood.

“Sure,” said Bucky, equally wary, pulling the blanket he was now sort-of-wearing tighter around his chest. “I remember liking spaghetti.” Steve smiled sadly. Memories were coming back thick and fast, but the way Bucky said things sometimes made it sound like it was more painful that it was useful.

“Always was your favourite, Buck.” Steve spooned the pasta into bowls and set them down on the small table. “Come and eat, before it gets cold.”

  
Bucky sat down, staring into the bowl, awkward, but calmer than he had been in a while. As he began eating, Steve relaxed and joined him. They both ate in silence, trying to remember if this felt like it always had, or if they were imagining that it did.  
When they had finished and the dishes were done, they moved into the living room, both men reluctant to break the sense of familiarity that was developing.

“What did Nat come over for?” Steve asked, his worried curiosity finally breaking through.

  
“Nat? Oh. Right. Nothing really, just came to check up on me, I guess. Making sure I'm not still brainwashed.” Bucky said with distaste, his features twisting into a grimace. “I don’t think she likes the fact you leave me here alone sometimes. Thinks I'm gonna go crazy and take down the whole block or something while you’re out getting groceries.” He forced a short laugh, then looked at his hands.

  
“I don’t know, Buck, I think she’s just worried about you. She’s a bit hard-edged, and don’t tell her I said this, but her heart’s in the right place.” Steve looked at his own hands before quietly adding, “Usually, anyway.”

  
They sat like that for a while, both silently contemplating Nat’s reason for visiting, until Steve realised they were, in fact, doing two very different things. Bucky had started breathing oddly; too fast, too shallow, and his hands were pulled into fists so hard his knuckles were turning white. He was shaking, almost imperceptibility, but Steve knew something was definitely wrong.  
He was afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to do anything that would startle the man sitting opposite him. Bucky had stopped shaking and his fists were beginning to unclench when he suddenly jerked his head up and looked at Steve with an intensity that made shivers run down the blonde man’s back.

  
“Steve? Is that you, Steve?” Bucky said in a small voice that seemed impossibly loud in the small space.

  
“Yeah, Bucky, it’s me. Don’t worry; you’re safe, you’re okay. You’re home.” Steve said, holding his friend’s gaze, desperately trying to think of something to do to show Bucky that he was telling the truth. Slowly, he got off the chair he was sitting in and moved to the couch to sit next to the man he was trying so hard to fix. Wrapping the blanket around Bucky for the second time that day, he tried to comfort him from a distance, until he suddenly found a dark head on his chest, sobbing quietly into his shirt. He encircled his arms around him, holding on tightly, gently whispering to him.

  
“You are James Buchanan Barnes. When you were 13, you saw a dumb, scrawny looking kid getting beat up by some punks and you stepped in, even though you didn't know him. You saved my ass that day, and ever since you've been looking after this little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. You are not what happened to you during the war, or what happened after. You’re my friend, Bucky, and I'm with you until the end of the line.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and comfort cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda shit! But I couldn't write this any better, and I really did try. Hopefully the next few chapters will be easier. I'm not so good at the one-on-one interaction stuff.

_He woke up in the darkness and the cold. He could hear screaming but he didn't know if it was him that was making the noise or not because of the pain. So much pain, all around him, inside him. He became pain and he ceased to be the person he once knew. He was given a new name, a new identity, a new voice. He spoke with a tongue he couldn't control and saw with eyes he couldn't close. He did things he hated doing, but eventually forgot he hated it. If he was good, the pain went away. If he didn’t do his job, the pain came back worse than ever. Eventually there was no fear, no pain, nothing. He was a good fighter, a good soldier, he did what he was told and no more._  
 _Until he saw the man with the blue-grey eyes on the bridge. Then the pain started again, but this was different. This wasn't pain that_ they _caused, this was the crushing weight of memories and guilt. This was his personal pain. Torture was nothing compared to this. He would forget again, of course, but it would come flooding back, tearing into him like claws. Slashing guilt and spasms of memory. He woke up in the darkness, screaming._

“Bucky? BUCKY!” He heard a voice shouting the name that no longer fit him comfortably, and realised it was shouting over another noise. A noise he was making. He stopped screaming and saw Steve standing over him, his hands hovering uncertainly, tears welling in the eyes that brought him so much pain, and so much happiness.

“I'm sorry,” was all Bucky could manage, turning over to face the wall, away from Steve, away from those eyes.

“Bucky, please. There’s no need to apologise. Is there anything you need?” Steve said, his voice trembling as he held back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"No. Just for you to leave me alone. You shouldn't have to deal with this; it’s my burden.” Bucky’s voice was hard, betraying nothing of what he actually felt. All he wanted was for Steve to stay, to reach out and make the pain go away, but he knew that wasn't his job. He had hurt Steve, the little guy he was supposed to protect, and for that he would never forgive himself.

Steve stood there for a moment, uncertain as how to proceed. He knew Bucky needed him, but he had no idea how to help. He couldn't take away the memories that threatened to overcome the man lying foetally in the bed below him, and he felt helpless. He knew that what Bucky needed was a friend, but he didn't know if he wanted one.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything, Buck? I can make you some coffee?” Steve said, lamely, hands still hesitantly raised above the bed.

“No. I don’t…” Bucky trailed off as he began to cry, quietly and desperately, realising that he wasn't allowed to want anything for so long, he didn't know how to know what he wanted anymore. Steve reacted before he really knew what he was doing. Falling onto the bed next to Bucky, he wrapped his friend tightly in his arms, not letting go until he felt the shaking sobs slow. Bucky shook off the arms, and turned over, facing Steve.

“I'm sorry,” he said, tears still wet on his eyelashes. “I'm so sorry. This isn't your job. Go save the world or something, I’m not worth it.” Steve found Bucky’s eyes and spoke directly into them.

“Right now, you are the world. And you are worth saving, just like all those time you saved me, remember? You’re a good man, the best man, and I'm not going to stop until you see that too.” The conviction in his voice surprised both of them, and the small, tentative kiss that he placed on Bucky’s forehead surprised them even more. Without saying anything else, Bucky snuggled back into Steve’s embrace, thinking that if they had done this before everything happened, he would have been the big spoon. Smiling for the first time that he could remember since the war began, he slowly drifted back to sleep, Steve following suit when he was sure Bucky was okay. They slept entwined for longer than Bucky had ever managed in one go since he got back, and, watching Steve sleep after he awoke, he felt his forehead still tingling from the kiss that was so unexpected, and so long-awaited.

_He woke up in the darkness and the cold. He could hear screaming but he knew it wasn't him. He was stronger now; the darkness was brighter and the cold was warmer. He still had a long way until he reached the light, but he felt a warm hand around his, and the pain was less. His forehead tingled and he smiled into the darkness, ready to face whatever it threw at him._


	3. Coffee and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has coffee with Natasha and finally gets sick of her setting him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite being crap at dialogue, this chapter is pretty much all talking. I don't know why I do it to myself.

“Don’t be like that, Nat. He’s doing so much better. Fewer nightmares, more laughter. It’s good, it’s positive.” 

Steve understood why Natasha was being so stubborn, but that didn't stop him from being annoyed with her.

“I know he’s getting better. That’s what I'm afraid of. It’s going to be so much worse when he slips again.” Natasha said quietly, willing Steve to let it sink in. He looked away from her, studying the plate he was holding intently. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that Bucky was Steve’s blind spot. 

“So how about Jess, from accounting? You know; tall, brunette, always putting on chapstick?” Nat said with a smile, putting her feet up on the table in front of her.

“Well she’s very pretty, but I'm busy, Nat, you know that.” Steve kept his eyes firmly on the plate, hoping he had sounded as light hearted as he meant to. He just wished she would stop setting him up with random women. He knew it was well meaning, but it was beginning to get harder coming up with excuses.

“Anyway, how’s it going with you and Sam?” he said, trying to change the subject.

“It’s going fine, and if I tell you any more about it, I will actually have to kill you. What about Joan, that lovely girl with the lisp?” Nat said with a smirk.

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed. Staring at his hands, he thought about all the times he had tried to be honest with people, tried to be honest with himself, and chickened out. He knew Nat was waiting for a response and he cursed himself for being such a coward. He looked up at her, and he could tell she knew she wasn't going to be fobbed off with a lame excuse again. 

“Nat, I know you mean well, but please stop trying to set me up. I'm too…hung up on someone already, I guess.” He looked back down, unable to tell her the whole truth. So many years of burying feelings had made them hard to access.  
Nat didn't say anything immediately, but leaned forwards and grabbed his hand with hers, sympathy flickering across her face.

“I know you are, Steve, that’s exactly why I've been trying to get you out there. It’s hard to lose a future with someone, but Peggy moved on, and so can you.” She smiled, and squeezed his hand before getting up. “I’ll make us some more coffee.” 

The coffee pot was barely warm before she heard a quiet voice from the living room, drawing her back in.  
“What was that, Steve? Didn't hear you over the coffee.” 

Steve steeled himself for the questions she was bound to ask, before blurting out what he had just said so timidly.

“It’s not Peggy. It should be Peggy, and I'm sorry that it isn't. But… it isn't.”

Nat turned around to hide her smile. About time the big idiot realised what everyone else knew already. Poured coffees in hand, she came back into the room.

“Oh? Then who? Some mystery girl? Even more mysterious than me?” she said with a laugh, watching Steve carefully, knowing that if she pushed too hard it would only make it worse. 

“Not exactly,” said Steve, fidgeting with his hot cup. “It’s…they’re not exactly…it’s more complicated than that.” 

Nat put her coffee down, and looked at Steve, aware of how uncomfortable he was. 

“Trust me, I understand complicated. Whatever it is, remember that I'm a modern girl, I can take it.” 

Steve took a big mouthful of coffee that was still slightly too hot and then a deep breath. He hadn't felt this nervous since he tried to enlist, imagining that they would take a long look inside his brain and declare that he was unfit for service, not just for his frail body, but for his “proclivities”. 

“I don’t know how to… I've never told anyone… I'm sorry, this is awkward. Um. Like I said, it’s not Peggy I'm hung up on,” he paused, knowing that what he said next could never be taken back. “It’sbuckyokay.” 

Nat tried to suppress the smile that had formed during his awkward confession. She put down her coffee and moved over to sit next to him. Putting an arm around him, she felt how tense his was.

“Relax, Cap, I'm here for you. I can’t say I had no idea, but I'm glad you told me.” Fighting down the urge to crack a joke, she hugged him closer.

“It’s seriously okay, Steve, nobody will care.” Noticing he had stiffened up again, she gently stroked his back. “I'm not gonna tell anyone, don’t worry,” she said quietly. “That’s your job.”

“My job.” Steve scoffed, bitterly. “Nobody wants a Captain America that steps out with boys.”

Before she had a chance to reply, the doorbell rang, immediately followed by several loud knocks. 

“Just a minute!” Nat yelled, before turning back to Steve. 

“You okay if I answer that? Not gonna break down on me, are you?” 

“No, go ahead.” Steve smiled weakly, feeling better than he had a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky causes trouble, Steve gets sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops im sorry. i hope this will improve at some point.

Natasha was alert as she looked through the peephole, muscles taught and ready, her hand reaching behind her for the gun that was tucked into her jeans. With a small laugh, she relaxed and opened the door to her visitor.

“Speak of the devil,” she said to Steve over her shoulder. “Come in, Bucky, we were just talking about you.”

Bucky nervously edged through the unfamiliar doorway, glancing around cautiously as though he was expecting an attack any second. Steve beckoned him over, reassuring the edgy man that this was a safe space, as Nat clattered around the kitchen making him a coffee.

“What are you doing here, Buck?” asked Steve, concerned. It wasn’t like him to leave the apartment alone, let alone to go somewhere new.

“I just felt like I was gonna go black again. So I came here.” Bucky said, sadly, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes.

“You know you could have just sent me a text and I’d have been right over?” said Steve, softly.

“Yeah but I hate those things. I can never seem to get them to work right and nothing I ever say sounds right.” He stopped as Steve chuckled in agreement, Nat silently rolling her eyes in the kitchen and mouthing ‘old people’.

“I just needed to not be alone, I’m sorry, I’ve interrupted. I shouldn’t have come.” Standing up as he spoke, Bucky started towards the door, only to be dragged gently back down onto the couch.

“If you need me, I’m here, okay, you know that. Don’t be sorry.”

Steve suddenly noticed that Bucky was soaked through and shivering, his newly short hair dripping and his thin tshirt sticking to his skin.

“Oh jeez Buck, it’s pouring down; you should have at least grabbed a jacket. Let me go get you a towel.” Steve stood up, firmly putting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders as a warning to stay put.

“Nat, I’m just going to get a towel for Buck, okay?” he said, already on his way to the bathroom.

“Yeah that’s fine, just don’t use the purple one; that’s Clint’s. He gets really funny about people using his stuff.”

When Steve came back through, Nat was just putting the coffee on the small table and sitting back down, tenser than she had been previously.

“Here you go,” he said, throwing the not-purple towel over to Bucky, and headed into the kitchen to get the sugar Natasha always forgot to put in his coffee. Idly wondering if the bitterness was a Russian thing, he suddenly heard a choking noise and a crash coming from the living room. Immediately alert, he dropped the sugar and ran into the room just in time to see Nat kneeling on Bucky, who was lying face down on the wooden floor, dark coffee spreading across the table and dripping onto his shirt, mingling with the rain water. Nat looked up, as hard edged as Steve had ever seen her and met his confused stare.

“Your friend here decided it would be a good idea to try and scald me.” Her expression softened slightly. “This is what I was talking about, Steve. It’s only going to get worse.”

Steve didn’t say anything, just looked at the stranger he knew so well. The coffee kept dripping onto him, the stain getting bigger and bigger, looking like a sepia blood stain, and Steve could feel the confusion and rage pouring out of him.

Natasha started when the man underneath her began to shake, his limbs jerking wildly but with no strength or consciousness behind the movements. She flipped Bucky over, and before she knew what was happening, Steve was beside her, placing the balled up towel under Bucky’s head.

“He hasn’t had a seizure in a while, but they usually pass quickly. He’ll be okay afterwards, Nat, I promise.” Nat was surprised at how cold Steve sounded, how emotionless he was, but was grateful that he had taken charge. Nursing was not exactly her strong suit.

“What do you think triggered it?” Steve asked, absently stroking Bucky’s hair.

“I’m not sure, but I think it might have been the coffee. He took a sip and just changed.”

“Coffee, huh? That’s a new one. Might be the way you make it,” he said, quickly having to reassure her that she made great coffee, honestly. Bucky sighed underneath him, and Steve realised that he had fallen asleep.

“Nat, I’m sorry to ask but can he sleep here for a bit? It’s important to make sure he’s okay after a fit and I don’t want to wake him so soon.”

“Are you joking? He just attacked me, and you’re asking me if he can nap on my floor. I love you, Steve, but you’re an idiot. Get him out of here.”

_It was cold, and the blood that was seeping out of his wound was cooling rapidly, chilling the skin on his back. He could smell rust and gunpowder and sweat, and knew he was back there. He could hear the men laughing in the disgusting kitchen as he began to panic. His nerves screamed at him and the overpowering smell of strong, bitter coffee drifted out towards him; the rich, pungent scent engulfing him and mixing with the pain, the frustration and the anger he felt. Alone, bleeding, and angry, he thought only of Steve._


End file.
